


Blurred lines

by kalika_999



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Blood and Injury, Boners, HYDRA Husbands, Licking, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Scenting, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22826533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: Brock gets hurt, and of course Jack steps in to take care of it.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: MCU Kink Bingo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639597
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28
Collections: MCU Kink Bingo Round 4





	Blurred lines

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hey Wolf, Just See There's No Fear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441197) by [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999). 



> This is considered a throwaway scene from Hey Wolf once Brock knows what Jack is. :P
> 
> Written for the 'Licking' square for my MCU Kink Bingo card.

His thigh. His fucking thigh.

The universe hates him, he already knew this, but this is just fucking annoying. He tore his favorite pair of jeans  _ and _ he won’t escape Jack’s invasion of personal space the moment he smells the blood.

He knows ultimately it’s his fault for trying to hop that chain link fence so quick he didn’t notice there was still some barbed wire strung onto it, but his thigh is better than his dick getting caught. He wonders if that excuse will work with Jack. Probably not. 

He’s right when soon enough he finds himself in bed, Brock on his back, legs spread and Jack on his stomach between them. He has one hand on the thigh that wasn’t bloody, the other gingerly pressed around the cut that continues to bleed sluggishly, despite time and he knows it’s a little deep but nothing too scary. Jack’s holding him to keep him from squirming away, because after a few long minutes of his wolfy gaze staring hard at the wound, he unceremoniously dips his head down and laves at it. It should be weird, right? But all he can focus on is the heat coming off Jack’s palms on his bare legs, and the soft warm wetness of his tongue.

Of course his mind wanders, because his body knows foreplay, it tells him it’s foreplay, that his very protective and territorial boyfriend isn’t fixing anything. That he should get a move on with stripping him naked and using that mouth on other places around his body.

The thought is especially strong because he kept watch while Jack lapping along the cut until it knit itself together. He knows Jack is only trying to fix him with his mojo voodoo werewolf instincts, but he’s a virile young teenage boy and he’s only getting more and more keyed up. 

Jack’s body inches higher with the next drag of his tongue, and it looks too much like he’s crawling up the bed to Brock. To get at more of him, to work on taking him apart and tasting every bit of his body like he likes to do now that his secret is out and Brock can get with the program about how obsessively into tongue baths he’s into. 

It’s just too much, it’s  _ so much _ at once. He can’t help let out a soft noise, his attempt at swallowing down a moan comes back up halfway and even if Jack wasn’t smelling how horny this was getting him, he definitely knew for sure now.

A couple things happen at once at this point. Brock thinks his eyes roll back before they squeeze shut, but otherwise can’t see anything past the exploding, colorful fireworks behind his eyelids. He’s almost glad for that; he knows the sight down there will probably get him talking, ultimately for sex and while that should be shit Jack hears on a normal basis, he knows when Jack worries, his wolf buddy inside him gets pissy the second Brock tries to turn it into something fun, and then Jack gets pissy and Brock isn’t in the mood to deal with schizophrenic pissiness. 

One of his hands come up over his mouth, and he doesn’t know when he started panting like he is, his mind feeling a whole bunch of things, but mainly that Jack should get his mouth on his dick. Brock’s other hand found itself fisting into Jack's hair, unsure of if he wanted to guide him there or keep him away so he wouldn’t get lectured. 

While he knows Jack won’t kill him for tightening fingers into his hair like he is, too firm and tugging even if he doesn’t know if he wants him to quit it to keep going for gold because again, his body is responding how it’s normally supposed to respond. Jack doesn’t make it better when he’s nosing the skin and then licking around his wound to clean up all the smears of dried blood. Werewolf instincts or not, this isn’t fair at all.

His dick is well past keeping it cool, boxers wet and as tight as one would expect with a guy as hot as Jack having his face this close to them. This is wet dream material if they weren’t already going out. Brock knows he’s bright red from trying to keep himself in check, his boyfriend’s _worried_ , he has to kind of pretend like he’s appreciative of his possessiveness and not ask for head while he’s down there. He’s profusely sweating though, and it’s slowly starting to feel like more torture than Jack giving out comfort. 

The stairs creak and Brock freezes up while Jack is the complete opposite, like he doesn’t even hear his parents heading for bed, but it’s a damn lie considering he’s got super good hearing yet Jack still doesn’t budge from his spot. Maybe he should ask him to stop. The wound was basically healed completely with all the fawning Jack’s been giving it and while his parents probably wouldn’t say anything about him having a boyfriend, said boyfriend shouldn’t be where he is if they do come in. 

Taking in a deep, shaky breath, he stops staring up at the ceiling in this weird nervousness and prepares to ask Jack if he’s done for the night. He’s unprepared for the sight that greets him.

Greet isn’t exactly the word for it. It’s more like a kick in the goddamn gut, insuring the wind is knocked out of him, struggling to find oxygen that he so sorely needs because Jack is silently watching him. 

Brock’s hand is still clasped in his hair, but it couldn’t deter Jack tilting his head up to stare back at Brock’s face. His eyes are dark, so dark they almost hide the wild hunger that Brock sees in them. He looks like he wants to go further. He  _ needs _ to go further.  _ Brock _ needs him to go further even though they’ve never crossed this threshold before. Every other time he got hurt, Jack was either taking care of him, or they were fucking. There were no blurred lines, just business or pleasure.

Neither of them says anything for a long moment; the bedroom’s silence is broken up only by the overwhelming pounding of Brock’s heart.

Under his gaze, Jack licks his lips, a long, slow movement of his tongue that Brock follows helplessly, and it feels like he’s asking if he can break his own rules. Which..they’re his rules, he can edit them whenever he likes..right? 

“Please.” Is what Brock says instead of anything else he could say.

Jack’s mouth falls open like he wants to argue but then realizes he’s the one that wants to change things up. There’s an order to things for him, needs the control because he’s got a lot of impulses and instincts simmering to the surface. He’s clearly aware he’s about to break his own werewolf etiquette and Brock wants to ask what’s running through his mind but then quits thinking when Jack pushes the fabric of Brock’s boxers up with his large, hot hand. His palm drags along Brock’s inner thigh until he is practically cupping the tent he’s making and Brock can’t help but pitifully moan out.

His skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat of his body already making him sweat.

Jack holds their gaze as he leans in again and drags his tongue one more time along the edge of the cut. Brock’s toes curl into the bedcovers underneath both of them. His hands, now dropped to either side of his body, digs into the mattress. He knows without being told, that even though his parents are just across the hall, not to cover his mouth again to muffle the noises he makes. It’s the intensity and weight of Jack’s stare, in the way he knows how Jack gets off on just his sounds alone because of his sensitive hearing, and how he always tells Brock everything about him drives him mad. 

“Jack. _Please_ , come on.”

Jack stares at him, lingers there, and Brock can slowly start to tell when he’s more wolf in human form than just Jack, like right then. 

Jack’s presses forward to trace his tongue along the patch of newly exposed skin, edging along what is still covered. His mouth finds its way home in the crease of Brock’s leg and it’s the smile, almost sinful, where Brock knows it’s not just Jack taking care of his wounds anymore. His wolf’s come out to play and he can’t help shudder with his entire body.

Jack’s fingers curl over the tops of Brock’s boxers, poised and ready to pull them down and Brock swallows thickly, unable to breathe.

He wants things from Jack. Needs them, his hands coming up to brush through dark hair, petting Jack before he moves on and along the broadness of his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

“ _Jack_.” He whines. There is no other way but for Brock to beg for it.

And Jack obeys.


End file.
